The cave was dank and
smelled of things that Chapel decided she'd rather not spend time
investigating.

"Stay here,"
the guard said to Spock and her, as if they had a choice. The bars
on the door definitely put a damper on any thoughts of skedaddling.

She tried to catch the
man's eye. "Look, I--"

The guard held up a
hand and backed away slowly, as if she was the one with the scary
weapon.

"Damn." She
glanced at her companion; he was as taciturn as ever. "Nice
place you have here, Spock."

"It was not
necessary for Emergency Operations to provide a representative for
this mission." But he'd gotten one anyway; this planet was in
a perfect location to stage rescue missions for disasters and other
relief operations.

She just hadn't
expected to be the one chosen to come along. She was a little
surprised he'd allowed it. "Tell that to the brass," she
mumbled, as she tried to see what the floor looked like, decided it
was too dirty to risk sitting on. She might change her mind later,
when she'd been standing for hours. Or days--please God, don't let
them be stuck in here for days.

"I would not sit
on that." He viewed the floor with distaste. Much the same way
he'd looked at her over the years.

"Not to worry."
She walked over to the bars. "Force field?"

"I think not."

She wondered if he'd
lie just to shut her up, leaned down and grabbed a pebble. She
tossed it toward the bars; it sailed right through. "No force
field."

"As I said..."

"You're the smart
one, all right." And she was the smart ass. Quite the pair.
"So...I assume we're being monitored?"

"It is likely. I
suggest you not divulge anything sensitive."

"No shit,
Sherlock." Did he think she was a complete novice at this?
She'd been in Emergency Ops now for nearly a decade.

He moved closer and she
glanced at him. His eyes were serene, as if he had nothing better to
do with his day than hang out in a prison cell.

"We didn't do
anything wrong," she said.

"No, you did not
do anything wrong. I insulted the monarch's youngest bride."

She loved that this was
not her fault. "That'll teach you to turn away homemade
meatloaf."

"I do not eat
mea--"

"Uh huh. Infinite
diversity in desperate situations, Spock."

He actually sighed.

"It wasn't bad
meatloaf." She smiled at him in a way she was sure had to be
annoying. Eventually she'd tell him that it wasn't even real meat.
But...not yet. Served him right for not doing his homework. "I
mean as meatloaf goes."

"I would not
know."

"No? Zarabeth
didn't cook you up a prehistoric meatloaf to take the edge off?"
The whole Zarabeth thing was still a sore spot. As was Leila. And
Droxine. It was one of the reasons she'd let her hair go back to
brown. Spock obviously had a thing for blondes--it had hurt that
Chapel hadn't been included in that sunny pack despite her best
efforts at platinum, champagne, and any other shade she'd thought he
might like.

"I do not intend
to discuss Zarabeth with you."

"Good." She
started to rattle the bars a little, looking for a weak spot. "You
could help."

"You have the task
well in hand, Commander."

"That's what all
the boys say," she muttered, grinning at the idea of the men who
might have said it recently.

"So I have heard."

She turned to look at
him--damn his Vulcan hearing. "Miaow."

One slowly rising
eyebrow was her answer.

"Ooh, snarky
Spock. I sort of like him."

"I shall desist
from such comments, then."

She laughed and went
back to the bars. "So, how long has it been since you were
forced to endure my presence?"

"The diplomatic
crisis on Deneva last year."

"That's right."
And the time before that had been right after Jim had died. She'd
been far gentler with Spock then, had known how badly he'd been
hurting, even if he hadn't shown it.

Spock seemed to become
very still, and she thought he might be thinking about Jim, so she
left him in peace while she finished determining that there was no
way in hell they were breaking out of their cell.

"Solid?" he
asked when she straightened up.

"'Fraid so."

"As I suspected."
He began to examine the rest of their cell. Which didn't take him
long because their cell was tiny with no windows, only the light from
the corridor spilling in to keep it from being pitch black.

"Well?"

"We are not going
anywhere."

"I sort of knew
that." She crossed her arms over her chest. "And you with
no dinner." Not that she'd had much. The first course and then
a few bites of the meatloaf before Spock had done his "I will
not eat anything with a face" routine, and they'd ended up being
yanked from the table and put in here. "So, as crimes go on
this planet, you think not eating meatloaf is a capital one? And why
the hell am I stuck in here? I'm not culpable. I ate the damned
stuff."

"Your language is
atrocious."

"It's bland
compared to some of my compatriots. And you're not answering the
question."

"Perhaps your
company was seen as further punishment?" His voice was even, as
if he had not just delivered a zinger of an insult.

She made a noise like
she'd taken a sharp blow to the chest, saw his expression change just
a bit--he was amused? "Years ago, you'd have made me cry with
that remark."

"You are nothing
like that woman."

"For which you are
eternally grateful, I'm sure." She leaned against the bars,
studied him. "So, we can't talk about work. Let's catch up."

"I would prefer
not to."

"Silence is
overrated."

"Not on Vulcan."

Who knew he could
verbally fence like this? Although she'd seen him give it to Len,
and that took guts and skill. "So, are you seeing anyone?"
She laughed at his expression. "Oh, yeah. That was so worth
it. If you could see your face..."

"Fortunately, I
cannot."

"So?"

"My social life is
not your concern."

"No, but it's more
interesting than watching water collect on these walls. Humor me."

"Perhaps a
compromise. You could tell me of your latest conquests. That should
take several hours."

"Ouch." She
moved closer. "What have you been hearing?"

He shook his head
slightly, a rather tense little gesture.

"And more
importantly, why are you listening? Do you care what I do?"

"I do not."

"Good. Because
you don't get to care." She turned away.

"Have I offended
you?"

"Would you care if
you had?"

He moved to stand next
to her, his hands on the bars. "Is it untrue, then?"

"What? That I'm a
big slut?"

He looked away.

"Yes, it's untrue.
No, it's not. Guess it depends on your interpretation." She
could feel some vestige of the old hurt welling up and pushed it
back. "Did you consider Jim a slut?"

His expression
tightened.

"Well, then, there
you go. I'm like him." Actually, she was like her old captain.
Open to experiencing pleasure for pleasure's sake, but still
looking--and never seeming to find--something more permanent.

"He was a good
man," Spock murmured.

"Never said he
wasn't." She moved away from him. "He was my friend, too.
Not the legendary friendship that you had. But we grew close after
I left the ship."

"How close?"

She turned to look at
him.

"There
were...rumors."

"Were there?"

He nodded.

"And you listened
to them?"

He did not answer, and
his expression didn't change.

"Jim and I were
just friends."

He seemed relieved.
But was that over Jim, or over her?

"So, now that
we've established my social calendar, Spock, let's hear about yours."

"I think not."

"That's because
you don't have one."

He didn't rise to the
bait; she really hadn't expected him to.

"If you're seeing
someone, I bet she's blonde."

She got the eyebrow
again.

"Don't try to tell
me you don't prefer blondes."

"Very well."

All except her. Damn
him. This should not still hurt. "So, how long do you think
we'll be locked up in here?"

"I do not know."
He seemed about to say something, bit it back.

"What?"

"Is someone
waiting for you?"

"You mean do I
have a hot date I need to get out of here for?"

He nodded slightly.

"I'm working,
Spock. I don't shit where I work." She'd learned that from
Jim.

"I see."

"Do you? Because
I don't think you do." She moved closer. "What difference
does it make if I have a hot date or not?"

"I was merely
making conversation. You were the one who preferred it to silence."

"My mistake."
She turned, banged on the bars. "Yo, Sparky!"

The guard looked out.

"There's been a
mistake. I want a cell with an interesting person."

The guard scowled at
her and went back to whatever he'd been doing.

"That was ill
advised."

"Why? Because I
might leave you all alone?"

"Because you might
irritate the guard when you could be building bridges."

She turned and stared
at him. "You are not seriously suggesting that I seduce our
jailor, are you?"

"And if I were?"

"I've been well
trained in martial arts since starting this job. I will hurt you."

"I am Vulcan and
much stronger."

"I'm a human
woman. And about to get very pissed."

He conceded with a nod.
"I was merely suggesting that you might find your way to
establish a rapport--of a type up to you, of course--with our guard."

"How do you know
he might not prefer a rapport with you?"

"I saw how he was
watching you."

She frowned at him.
"When?"

"In the elevator.
You were attempting to memorize the key combination and did not
notice."

"You knew I was
doing that?"

"Yes. But there
were too many numbers." He moved closer, pitched his voice low.
"I memorized the last ten digits. Did you get the first ten?"

"I did." She
was glad they hadn't both gone for the same ten digits. But-- "Since
when can't you memorize the whole damn pattern? Unless you really
were watching me?"

"As I said."
At her look, he gave her the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug. "I
am adept at multitasking."

"That's not that
point. Why did you care?"

"I did not."

"I think you
did."

He crossed his arms
over his chest, as if creating a barrier between them. "I was
merely concerned at the potential for violence to you in this place.
Of a sexual nature."

"That would be
sweet if it were true. Sparky doesn't strike me as the rapist type."
The guard didn't even scowl very well.

"You cannot tell
just by looking."

"Guess you should
know. I mean the whole logic turns into raging lust thing must be a
bit like that?"

"The Pon Farr is
not rape."

"If you say so."
Not that she knew. And she shouldn't be baiting him about this.
There were things that had happened during that time on the ship
she'd rather not dredge up. Things that hadn't happened, too. What
had he meant when he'd said that it was illogical to protest against
their natures? She'd never known.

"This conversation
has turned unpleasant. I would prefer silence."

"Fine by me."
She suddenly felt very tired and crouched, leaning against the bars
and trying to look past him.

He turned away, stared
at where the bars joined the wall as if he could pry them apart by
will alone.

"Look. I'm sorry.
That may have been out of line." She pushed herself to her
feet, really wanting to pace but there wasn't room. "I just..."

"It is all right."

"No, it's not all
right. It's never all right between us. Why is that?"

"I do not know
what you mean."

"Bullshit, you
don't." She turned and met his eyes. "We just can't find
an ease around each other, can we?"

"Perhaps not."

She sighed and nodded,
turning away.

"I am not sure we
have ever tried, Christine." He sighed, too.

"You've never
wanted to."

"And you, in the
past, have wanted to too much."

"Well, there you
go."

"Do you still want
it?"

"Ease? It's not
something you want, Spock. It's something you either have or you
don't. And we most decidedly do not."

"Of course."
He joined her again at the bars, as if trying to see what she was
staring at. Or maybe trying to see if she was crying, which she
wasn't.

"Did you and
Valeris have ease?"

"We did. I am not
sure that is an indicator of a successful relationship." There
was a wry irony in his voice that made her smile.

"Good point.
Android Roger was pretty easy to hang around with, too." Until
he went insane.

"I rest my case."

She glanced at him.
"Are you saying we stand a chance? Because we don't have ease?"

He didn't look at her.
"I am not sure what I am saying."

"I think you're
just delirious with hunger." She bumped up against him, and he
allowed it, and she was pretty sure they needed to stop talking. "I
think you probably shouldn't be saying anything."

"Perhaps not."

There was a short
silence. Then he said softly, "I did not, for the record,
consider Jim a slut."

"Okay."

"But he was quite
frequently occupied."

"Occupied is not a
bad thing."

"I am not saying
it is. But it can be off putting."

"How so?"

"If someone wanted
more from a person. To see that person continually with new
partners..."

"Yeah, well, when
you see someone who wants more from me, you be sure to tell him I'm
open to it. He'll just have to chase away the other men."

"Is that all that
is required?"

She nodded.

"I see."

"Why? Do you know
someone who is interested?" She didn't look at him.

There was a long pause.
Then he said, "No."

The answer didn't
surprise her--but it still hurt.

He moved away. "Were
you and Doctor McCoy ever...close?"

"Spock, I am not
sure why you think that my past relationships are any of your
business." Especially when he wasn't interested.

He didn't seem deterred
by the glare she shot him. "His behavior with you was not
always consistent."

"He's like that."
There was no way that she was going to tell Spock that Len was
occasionally a "friend with options." What difference did
it make? Now that she no longer worked for him? "We really
need to get out of here. How do you think we manage that?"

"I am uncertain."
He sounded, finally, as if he regretted his nosiness.

"Well, work on it,
will you? I can think of about a hundred other people I'd rather
spend time with."

"A hundred other
men, to be exact."

"Yes, to be exact.
But you don't care, remember?"

He looked away.

"What is with
you?" She moved closer, got almost in his face, which wasn't
hard to do in a cell that was getting closer by the moment. "I
like our lack of ease. It makes sense to me. Your interest in me
and my...activities does not make sense."

"I did not say it
made sense."

"Then stop it.
Because normally you make sense. If nothing else, I try to depend on
that."

He moved back, only
stopped when he ran into wall.

"We're giving them
quite a show, you realize," she said, backing away herself,
stopping just shy of the wall. "If they wanted a primer on a
dysfunctional relationship, we're certainly delivering."

He didn't answer.

She turned back to the
bars. "Yo, Sparky," she said so softly she knew the guard
wouldn't come out.

"You were easier
to deal with before."

"Before?"

"During our first
five-year mission."

"Oh, you mean when
I was the doormat who lived for any little moment with you?"
She turned to see his expression.

"That is not how I
thought of you."

"Riiii-iight."

"You were,
however, much...softer."

"I was weaker.
There's a difference." She turned away. She hated to think
about those days. Hated how she'd acted around him. "Am I so
bad now? Such a harpy?"

"I did not say
that."

"You said you
preferred the old me."

"You were not
listening very carefully." At her look, an eyebrow went up
slowly. "I said that version of you was easier to deal with."

"I don't
understand you." She moved away, feeling like she had that day
in his quarters, when he hadn't wanted to protest against their
natures. Off guard. Unbalanced.

Trapped.

"I do not always
understand myself, either, Christine." He was staring at her
with an expression she couldn't read--but then he was Vulcan. Not
reading it was the entire point.

"You should work
on that." She turned, unwilling to feel the old way, the soft
way--the doormat way.

Before he could answer,
she heard a door slam and a blustering voice saying, "Damn it,
Ambassador. How the hell did you end up in here?"

"Captain Walsh,"
Spock said coolly, "I regret there was a misunderstanding."

"Something about
the national dish of this planet, from what I could gather? They're
rather irritated with you." Walsh glanced at Chapel. "Tough
luck for you, Commander. Guilt by association."

"Oh, if only."

He shot her a confused
look.

"Private joke,
sir. Nothing to worry about."

He grinned, the way he
had all through their voyage here, and she glanced back at Spock; he
seemed to be assessing Walsh's smile. "Not where I work,
remember?"

He nodded tightly,
following Walsh out and leaving her to bring up the rear. As she
passed Sparky, she murmured, "No hard feelings?"

"Very sorry,
ma'am. Had my orders."

"Gotcha."
She held back, not eager to join into the conversation the two men
were having. As soon as they beamed up to the ship, she headed for
her quarters--and far away from Spock.

--------------

She was just pulling
off her uniform top when the chime rang. Pulling it back on, she
opened the door.

"No, I'm striking
out because it feels good to do it. Because I don't like you, Spock.
Because I'm trapped in here with you and unlike before, I have a
choice about that. And I don't want to have anything to do with
you."

He touched her arm, his
hand settling gently. "I think you do not know how you feel
about me."

"Oh? Why is
that?"

He let go of her.
"Because I do not know how I feel about you."

He moved around, until
he was facing her, staring hard, his eyes cold like the scientist
he'd been before diplomacy had become his life. She let her own eyes
go cold, stared back. Didn't move as he stepped closer and closer,
when he reached out, his hand pressing against her upper arm.

She wouldn't blink.
She would not be the one to move away, but he began to rub her arm,
and she finally let out a shuddering breath. "I hate you
sometimes, Spock."

"Jim used to tell
me that hate and love were merely sides of the same coin."

"Yes, opposites."

"But still the
same coin." He let up a little, but didn't pull away entirely.

"Are you saying
you love me?"

"No, I am saying
you love me."

She jerked away. "How
convenient for you."

"To be honest, it
is not. It has never been." He surprised her, leaning in, his
face resting lightly against her hair. "When we were on
Platonius, your hair smelled like the jasmine that blooms on my
planet in the autumn."

"That was their
perfume."

"It smells of
mountain herbs now."

"Starfleet-issued
shampoo."

"It does not smell
that way on me." He left her hair alone, but pressed his body
even closer.

"What are you
doing?"

"I was in the
officer's club with Leonard just before we left. I saw you with a
man. It made me...uncomfortable."

"Not my problem."

"I found myself
contemplating opportunities lost."

"Not lost. Never
taken. Never reached for."

But he was reaching
now, his hand stealing around her, pulling her closer.

"Let me go."

He let her go, moving
away slowly. "You do not want me any longer?"

"No." But
she couldn't meet his eyes, stared much lower and saw that he most
definitely wanted her, and that shook her. She was used to things
being a certain way. She wanted Spock; he didn't want her. "No,
I don't."

"I am not sure I
believe you." He stroked her cheek.

"No more talking,
Spock. It's just too confusing."

"An excellent
suggestion." He pulled her to him and kissed her, making
talking impossible.

When he finally let her
go, she said, "I did not say you could do that."

"I am aware of
that." He brushed her hair back. "I prefer it dark."

"Do you?"

"Yes. It brings
out your eyes."

"Are you in woo
mode?"

"Would you object
to that?" He moved away from her, sat down on the chair by the
desk.

"Make yourself at
home."

"You did not
answer my question."

"There's no reason
to answer your question." She headed toward the bathroom. She
was going to close the door and lock it and take the longest shower
ever, and try to forget that he'd kissed her, and it had been exactly
what she'd wanted him to do.

Even if she knew
better. After all these damned years, she had to know better.

He grabbed her as she
passed, pulling her down to his lap. Before he could kiss her again,
she put her finger on his lips to stop him.

"What if I
told you to go?" she asked, her voice nearly a whisper.

"Then I would go."
He pulled her closer. "You would, however, have to remove
yourself from my lap for me to do that."

"I didn't put
myself there, Ambassador."

"No. You did
not." Nuzzling her neck, he ran his hands over her, his touch
possessive in the extreme. "It was an extremely bold move on my
part, was it not?"

"I've heard you're
full of bold moves." In diplomacy, anyway. He wasn't known as
a lothario.

He just kept touching
her, his look untroubled and very intent.

"As I said, make
yourself at home."

He seemed amused.
"This may, in fact, be my way of chasing off the other men."

"There aren't any
other men in sight."

"Then it appears
to be a very effective measure." He stopped touching her,
stared up at her, all coldness gone, but she was unsure what she was
seeing. "Do what you want, Christine. If you want me to leave,
then get up and tell me to go. But if you want something else..."

She stared at him for a
long time, knowing she should take option number one. Should get up
and order him out. And call this a moment of insanity she'd look
back on with as much confusion as that moment in his quarters.

She should do that.

She should make him
leave.

She leaned down,
kissing him the way she'd wanted to for far too many years. He
kissed her back, the way she'd wanted him to for just as long. He
kissed her that way for a very, very long time.

"Why now, Spock?"

"I do not know."

"Why me?"

"Because I find
that I want you."

"Not very
romantic."

"You think not?"
He stroked her hair from her face. "It is perhaps lacking
lyricism. But it is elemental. Raw."

"Raw is good?"

"Perhaps not. We
will, no doubt, ascertain that in time." His words were cold,
clinical. But they were tempered by his hand on her neck, his eyes
as they seemed to shine with a calm humor, his mouth as he tasted her
lips and cheeks and earlobes.

Then he touched her
much lower, his fingers relentless as they slipped under fabric, over
skin. "I do not plan on sharing you."

"Who said you were
even going to have me?" But the way she was wriggling on his
lap probably negated that statement. She threw her head back, gave
in to him.

Damn. He was much,
much better than she'd ever fantasized. And this was fully clothed.

"We will have to
discuss that." He was watching her as she moved, a small upturn
of his lips indicating a satisfaction that she found more arousing
than any expression he'd ever shown her.

"You like this?"
she asked. "Doing this to me?"

"I do. Very
much."

It was too much. Too
good. She let go, tried to be quiet, felt his lips cover hers when
she failed. His tongue explored as she finally quieted down,
breathing heavily.

"You liked that
too, Christine. Did you not?"

"Hated it.
Absolutely hated it."

"A pity."

When her body would
work again, she slid off him, pulled him up. "This will never
work," she said as she stripped off his uniform.

"Perhaps not."

"It's going to end
badly."

"That is a
possible alternative." He was not gentle as he removed her
uniform, as he pushed her to the bed then joined her, staring down at
her. "But there are others."

"Oh? Perhaps you
could enlight--"

She forgot how to talk,
nearly forgot how to think. Holy God, this was better than anything
she'd ever imagined.

Better than her friends
with their options. Better than... "I hate you." She
clutched at him. How could she still feel this way after so many
years? How could she still want this so much?

"Yes, I know."
His lips were gentle, his hands tender, as he moved over her.

He was watching her and
she turned away. But she murmured, "I love you. I still love
you," and he kissed her as her face burned with that persistent
truth.

When they finally lay
quietly, much, much later, he asked, "Were you waiting for me?"

"Get over
yourself."

"I will take that
as a yes."

"Do so at your
peril."

His mouth again turned
up, the miniscule, sensuous smile.

"I have a
confession to make," she said softly.

"Indeed?"

"The meatloaf. I
saw them making it. It wasn't meat--it was some kind of vegetable
matter."

"I see." He
looked at her very sternly.

"Are you mad?"

"I do not know.
Perhaps you could make amends?" He very obviously looked south.

"Never let it be
said you're not a real man." But she headed for points lower.

When she was done, and
his toes uncurled, he said, "I have a confession to make, as
well."

"You do?"

"Regarding the
meatloaf not containing any actual meat--I knew that." He
headed south without any prompting from her.

Smart man.

---------------

She woke to feel him
pressed against her. He made a small sigh that seemed to indicate
contentment.

"Good morning,"
she said.

"Good morning."
His voice was scratchy, but then she'd managed over the course of
the evening, to make him cry out a few times. Loudly. She was very
glad Starfleet had soundproofed the quarters in these new ships.

She turned, felt him
let her move before he pulled her in again, holding her in a way that
was both comforting and a little frightening. Just how much did he
want her? And if it wasn't as much as she thought, how much was this
going to hurt?

"What are you
thinking about?" His voice was sweet.

"Catastrophes."

"Of a personal
kind or more universal?"

She smiled. "I'm
good at the latter."

"Yes, I know you
are. I've heard excellent reports from those of my colleagues who
have worked with you." He shifted a bit. "This personal
disaster...does it involve me?"

"Maybe." She
leaned up, kissing him gently, wanting to take the sting out of her
answer.

His lips were soft
against hers, his movements unhurried. He pushed her to her back,
moved over her. Took her as if he'd been doing it all his life.

And her body welcomed
him as if she was his only home.

God, she was doomed.

"You are thinking
those things again." He didn't stop moving as he played psychic
lover. He really was adept at the multitasking thing.

"Make me stop
thinking," she said, and he pushed her harder and farther than
he had the night before, until she could only concentrate on him and
what he was doing to her and how he was making her feel.

He kissed her as they
came down, watching her with the gentlest look she thought he'd ever
given her. But there was humor there, too. As if he knew something
she didn't.

"What?"

"We would not have
been in that cell long, even if Captain Walsh had not come to rescue
us."

"No?"

He shook his head.
"There was a time when the youth of the planet rebelled against
the national dish. They refused to eat it, and laws were put in
place to try to make them see the errors of their ways. Over time it
became less a matter of rebellion, more a rite of passage. And the
sentences were made increasingly less punitive. The maximum sentence
is now two hours in one of their holding cells." He nuzzled her
neck. "And I have endured the same trial the monarch did for
the sake of personal freedom. That is important to these people. It
will go a long way to securing the bases your department wants so
badly."

She couldn't decide how
she felt about that. "I guess it was just your bad fortune to
be stuck with me."

He looked at her like
she was very stupid. "Do you suppose you are on this mission by
chance?"

"You didn't ask
for me. They'd have told me."

"Of course, I did
not ask for you. But there are other ways to ensure the presence of
someone on a particular assignment, are there not?"

"You engineered
this?"

"Diplomacy is much
like engineering. And like chess."

She let her hand stray
down his body. "Is this diplomacy?"

"I think it is.
Or was. We were at odds. Lacking ease. Now...?"

She laughed. "I
will never understand you."

He closed his eyes as
she found her target. "You appear to understand me quite well
at the moment."

"I won't argue
that..." She turned her full attention to her task, showed him
just how well she could play the game of diplomacy.

He held her tightly
when she'd finished, kissing her gently.

"So, I'm supposed
to believe this is all because you saw me in the officer's club with
another man? Just before we left."

"Not at all. I
have been thinking about you since Deneva."

"A year ago?"

"I am not an
impulsive man. You know that, Christine."

"A...year ago."

"It was most odd.
Our mission prior to that was just after Jim died. I was...raw
inside, and you were kind to me. And I believed you were possibly
using the situation to try to get close to me. I thought you were as
you were long ago. Wanting me. It made me uncomfortable."

She felt the warmth
drain out of her. "Nice."

"I am telling you
what I felt then, not what I feel now."

She realized she'd
tensed in his arms, tried to relax. "Okay. Go on."

"On Deneva, you
were as you are now. Or as you were yesterday." His eyes
gleamed with warm humor.

"Fully clothed,
you mean?"

"Sharp. Quick.
Somewhat mean."

"I always knew you
were a masochist."

"Let me finish,
Christine." He waited until she looked up at him. "I
thought at first you were angry with me for the various rejections
over the years. But then I came to realize that was the way you are
now. And that the last time we had interacted, it had probably been
the way you were then as well. That you were being kind, when you
didn't have to. Not trying to get me. You were trying to spare me."

"So, you were
suddenly interested in me. A...year ago."

"You are not
letting go of that concept."

"I'm sure not."
She pulled away a little. "You couldn't just try asking me
out? Some candy and flowers, maybe? You thought a jail cell would
be romantic?" Although witness the result--her all naked with
him, doing her best to make his toes curl. Maybe he was on to
something.

He seemed to be
following her train of thought, his fingers were dancing over her
skin, his lips turning up just enough to be an almost smile. "I
believed a more traditional approach was destined to fail. As you
put it so well yesterday: we have never had ease between us. Would
you have trusted flowers or candy from me?"

She tried to imagine
him showing up at her door with either. Finally shook her head.

"You had some hard
truths to get out, Christine. You needed to hear some things from me
also." He leaned back, pulling her with him to settle on his
chest. "And I needed to make this gesture with these people to
accomplish what both our departments want. It was, in my estimation,
a no-lose scenario."

"What if I'd said
no?"

"I would have
refused the meatloaf indefinitely. You would have stayed in the cell
with me out of loyalty. And I would have had more time to counter
your resistance."

She laughed at his
logic train, and saw that he seemed a little relieved. "What if
I'd still said no?"

"I would have
waited till the Pon Farr and asked you to help me."

She saw that he was
deadly serious. "How far away is it?"

"Approximately
four years."

"That's a long
time to wait."

Again the Vulcan shrug.

"I'm impressed.
You had a back-up plan, even. A very long-term one." She
leaned in. "Did I have a code name? Operation Get Her in the
Sack?"

He shook his head
firmly. "You were Christine. A woman I did not know despite
all these years of association." He kissed his way to her ear.
"And you lied about McCoy. He told me the truth."

"I'm going to kill
him."

"I believe he was
trying to make me jealous."

"Did it work?"

"At that point, as
I was already set on my objective, yes, it did."

"I think I love
that."

"I thought you
would find that agreeable."

She moved over him,
smiled as he helped her get settled just right. "All this
because you like my eyes and my hair smells good?"

He closed his eyes as
she moved. "Yes. Those are the only reasons. Your skill in
situations such as this has absolutely nothing to do with any
decision I will make to continue to seek your company."

"It better not.
I'm much more than my talent in the sack."

"I am aware of
that." But he seemed at best barely aware of anything other
than enjoying her.